Almost
by lilmouse
Summary: Part character study and part 'what if'. It wouldn't leave me alone. There is humour here, too. Set before Season 4. Tony deals with the departure of Gibbs as best he can. Chapter Four now posted after a slight hiatus.
1. Chapter 1

**September 15, 2006:** My apologies for the long Author's Note. It feels necessary so I appreciate your patience. This idea won't leave me alone. I tried to let it go but to no avail. 'Contemplations' had a similar affect on me but wasn't nearly as demanding as this story has been. _Argh._

I gather that the new season of NCIS is set not long after the last season, timeline-wise. This story is set before the start of Season 4.

No doubt, this is AU for many reasons, not the least of which the team probably didn't even have time to go home 'between seasons'. This is part character study, part conversation, part humour and part angst and part 'what if', naturally. Just exploring…

I will be posting another chapter of 'Tin Star' soon. My thanks to all who continue to be encouraging when it comes to my writing. Your thoughts and comments are greatly appreciated.

I own none of these characters and no infringement is intended. This hasn't been Betaed so any errors are my own darned fault.

And now, I have to try to get **this** story out before I explode. It haunts me, it does. I lay partial blame for the inspiration at the feet of a video by ramoniciu and ideas that came to me from communications with celestial1. I thank you and curse you, simultaneously, and depending upon the reaction to this little piece, others may either be thanking or cursing you, too… ;)

Or cursing **me**, of course, for letting it out, lol! Enjoy!

**Almost**

**By lilmouse**

"**_Love laughs at locksmiths."_**

- _Proverb, Early Nineteenth Century_

"**_There is truth in wine."_**

_- Proverb, Mid Sixteenth Century_

Special Agent Tony DiNozzo slouches on his leather couch and stares at the bottle of white wine on his coffee table. It isn't a special bottle. He has a temperature-controlled wine cabinet in the breakfast area of the kitchen that is about half-full at the moment of wines he has selected for various occasions, should they arise. This bottle isn't from his collection. It wasn't chosen over any other options that were available for any particular reason, but it is a good bottle of wine. Something from Chile: a nice Chardonnay, elegant and rich with tropical fruit flavours. Something the girl at the store recommended between blushes.

Tony comes from money and learned to appreciate the finer things in life at an early age, like good wine, aged cheddar and beautiful women.

He looks around his living room, double-checking the shadows to see if anything has changed while he was distracted by the movie.

_Let's see… Wine? Check. Aged cheddar? Check. Beautiful woman?_

He snorts and sits forward. He pours himself another glass, draining the bottle, spilling a few drops onto the fine teak coffee table.

_Well, two out of three ain't bad._

His 30" Flat screen TV, embraced by a high-quality entertainment centre with the latest in audio-visual hardware, is showing the ten o'clock news, but he doesn't really care what is happening in Washington, D.C. right now, or in any other part of the world. He just wants to sit in his apartment, surrounded by the things he has managed to acquire despite his years of moving around the country. These are things that matter to him. They represent the stable part of his life, something he used to also associate with his current place of employment.

The death of his partner, Special Agent Caitlin Todd, altered his perception of 'stable', but he'd made it through that level of Hell to the other side and was beginning to feel the ground under his feet again.

The sudden departure of his boss, Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs, has shifted his world once more.

"_You'll do. It's your team now."_

With those words, Tony became the team leader - a position he wasn't expecting. He figured he'd hold down the fort while Gibbs was recovering in hospital, like the supporting character in a John Wayne movie, and wait for the lead to return, only to find the lead actor was walking off the set.

Even though it hasn't been twenty-four hours, Director Shepard has yet to contradict his appointment and he hopes he isn't a pretender to the throne. Maybe she's still in shock, like everyone else seems to be. Maybe she'll wake up tomorrow and realise he isn't suitable and bring in a more experienced agent to take over.

Maybe she'll do nothing and see if he sinks or swims.

"Gibbs," he says quietly, as if saying his name will summon the man in question. He isn't sure if he applauds his boss's choice to leave or if he wants to hunt him down and duke it out until he agrees to return.

He sighs and finishes his wine, tipping his head back to ensure he gets every last drop.

_Like I could take Gibbs in a fight._

Despite his age and level of physical fitness, these advantages are minimal when compared with the skill and experience of the former Marine. Tony knows this and doesn't fault himself for not being at that level. He'll be there, someday - _maybe sooner, now, rather than later _- then he'll see how well he can hold his own against Gibbs.

_Assuming I can find him when that day arrives._

"Mental note to self," he murmurs. "Add a few extra miles to the morning run and devote more time to building muscle." He already does weight training but increasing his fitness regime a bit won't hurt. If he does it now, he'll be better off in his later years. He decides that's a lot of forethought for someone in his early thirties and gives himself a mental pat on the back. "Good idea, DiNozzo."

He focuses on the empty bottle. _One down._ It isn't enough. He has always been able to drink his friends under the table. If he's going to get completely 'skunk drunk', he has a lot of ground to cover yet.

Tony snags another piece of cheese from the cutting board and slowly stands. He lets the cheddar melt on his tongue as he moves towards the kitchen, a small smile on his face as he looks at the things he has gathered that have come to provide some measure of comfort when the rest of his life has shattered like crystal and left him to bleed.

His furniture is wood and leather, not the more modern glass and chrome that some might imagine goes well with his urban, playboy façade. The rugs are richly coloured and cover the boring, beige broadloom that came with the place. Predictably, there are movie posters and shelves full of videos and DVDs and CDs, but the posters are all tastefully framed and his media collection - from 'Ozzie and Harriet' to 'Goldfinger', 'The Best of Abba' to the operas of Verdi, Puccini and Rossini - is organized and easily accessible.

There is a clock on the wall framed by curls of wrought iron with a white face and black Roman numerals. It is a gift from a college friend who decided that Tony needed all the help he could get when it comes to punctuality. It reminds Tony of his trip to Paris. A photograph of himself posing at the base of the Eiffel Tower with two of his fraternity brothers hangs beneath it and is one of the few personal photographs in the apartment.

_That was a summer to remember._

His kitchen isn't used much but he keeps it clean, having discovered the hard way in the college dormitories of America that creatures can emerge when the dirty dishes are left unattended for too long. He isn't anal about the cutlery drawer nor does he require an even number of matching plates for when he entertains - which is rare, these days, anyway. He is a bachelor and he is human but he has his pride.

The wine glass sounds loud when he places it on the counter and he winces. Some degradation in fine motor skills but it isn't like he's going to be driving anywhere until the morning.

_No problem._

He pulls another bottle of wine from the paper bag on the kitchen table - _also a Chardonnay, Australian this time_ - retrieves the corkscrew from a drawer and carefully works on the cork. He stops when he has it out halfway. Either his apartment is warm or the exertion of simply opening a bottle of wine is too much for him. It doesn't really matter. All he knows is that he's too hot. He pulls his top over his head, tossing it onto a kitchen chair. His undershirt needs changing but he'll have a shower soon and it's only him in the apartment anyway so who cares?

Tongue pressed against his top lip in concentration, he wrestles the rest of the cork free, pours some wine into his glass and takes the bottle and his glass back to the living room.

As an extra test of coordination, he decides to remove his socks by stepping on the toes with the other foot and pulling. He stumbles once but manages to liberate his feet without falling over. The rug feels luxurious against his skin. He leaves the socks on the carpet and returns to the sanctuary of his couch. He empties his glass, pours some more wine and wonders what he should do next.

Sleep comes to mind but he dismisses it quickly. The only way he'll sleep tonight is when he passes out from the alcohol. Using the toes of his left foot, he tentatively lifts the lid of a cardboard box that lurks under his coffee table and peers at the contents, debating the merits of ordering another pizza. Maybe he should have that shower first…

The video finished rewinding about fifteen minutes ago and he should probably retrieve it and put it back where it belongs but he only just sat down again and he's comfortable. It does no harm to leave it in the machine. He really should get it on DVD, anyway, as it has always been one of his favourite movies.

Maybe tonight, however, wasn't the best night for 'Rio Bravo'.

If Gibbs is John Wayne's character of Sheriff Chance then right now he is Dean Martin's alcoholic deputy, Dude, not doing a very good job of staying sober. He smiles. _That'll make McGee Ricky Nelson and Angie Dickinson's sexy lady will have to be played by -_

He tries not to think about Ziva David. Tony almost wishes she were here.

_Almost._

It is just as well that she isn't, as he doesn't need that temptation to add to his complicated day. He stands and moves towards his movie collection.

His cell phone rings. It takes him a moment to identify the sound then his eyes cast about trying to remember where he put it. After coming home, he'd tossed his keys at the hall table - and missed - thrown his NCIS cap angrily towards his bedroom, and he'd sent his phone -

It stops ringing. He sighs. _Let it be._

His apartment phone rings just as he reaches the DVD shelf.

Tony looks over at it, looks up at the wrought iron clock – _twenty-six minutes passed ten _- then back to the phone again. After six rings it goes to voice mail. He thinks about walking over and listening to the message but he doesn't move. After a minute, he continues his search for a movie. _Maybe a comedy…_

His cell rings again but he ignores it.

He finally selects 'How to Marry a Millionaire' - _Monroe, Bacall and Grable will drag his mind away from the angst_ - and is bending over to eject 'Rio Bravo' when someone knocks on his door.

His home telephone rings at the same time.

It seems the world can't live without Anthony DiNozzo and at the moment, he can't recall being so pissed off. He ignores the phone. He finishes pulling the video out and sets it on top of the entertainment centre. DVD in hand, he manages to stride to his front door without tripping over anything and quietly leans in to press his right eye against the peephole. The lens distorts his view but the person standing there is easily identified.

Officer Ziva David stares back at him.

Tony knows a friend of a friend who rents out his condo in Buenos Aires. The telephone number is on his PDA. If he called now, he might be able to book it for a week next month and get away from this mess. The Director might let him take some of his holiday time - _not_ - or maybe he'll just follow the example Gibbs has set and resign and let somebody else assume the responsibility.

It wouldn't be the first time he's chosen to leave.

A brown eye suddenly moves closer to the peephole and he jumps back, startled. He isn't going to give her the satisfaction of knowing that, however.

"What?" he growls through the door. It isn't brilliant and as an opening line it is more hostile than he intended.

"Are you going to let me in?" Her voice is muffled but he can hear her just fine.

"Why should I?"

She makes an impatient noise. "Because I'm standing outside your apartment?"

"All kinds of people stand outside my apartment," Tony counters abrasively. "That doesn't mean I have to let them in."

"Who stands outside your apartment?"

"Door to door salesmen, Jehovah's Witnesses, women who can't live without me."

There is a pause that makes Tony wonder, for just a moment, if she might have decided to go away. He peers through the peephole again. Ziva is still there, apparently looking at the worn carpeting, but he suspects her mind is elsewhere. She seems uncertain and a part of him is pleased he can keep her off balance like that. Another part of him declares he's a jerk and that if he really _is_ the team leader now it might be a good idea to demonstrate he is worthy of such a position.

_There goes his solitary night of private anguish._

"Officer David?"

She glances at the door. The expression on her face tells him that she doesn't know why she came and that she probably did so only because she couldn't think of anyone else to go to.

_Damn._

"Yes?"

"If I don't open the door, are you gonna huff, and puff and blow my house down?"

A small smile starts at the corners of her mouth. _Ah, so she knows this reference._ He has played it correctly and she's responding to their familiar rapport. _Perfect._

"You do realize that would make _me_ the big, bad wolf and _you_ one of the little pigs?"

"I knew the job was dangerous when I took it," he replies smoothly and finds a smile before throwing his deadbolts and opening the door. "Good evening, _Zee-vah_, so nice of you to stop by." He waves an arm towards his living room. "Please, come in."

She hesitates. He notes that she is quickly assessing his condition from head to toe. He is only wearing a thin cotton undershirt, jeans, and the sweat and grime of one of the most stressful days of his life. He needs a shower so badly he's embarrassed, though he hopes it doesn't show. He has consumed a bottle of wine by himself and has opened another with full intention of finishing it within the next hour. No doubt, she can smell it on his breath.

She hasn't caught him at his best.

Tony chuckles quietly once she crosses the threshold. He closes the door and locks it behind her. She has seen him naked whilst pretending to be his wife and been exposed to his close proximity during a forty-eight-hour surveillance in the confines of an un-air-conditioned car in the heat of summer. He figures she can handle his appearance.

He doesn't notice the flush to her cheeks or her temporary inability to look him in the eye. The alcohol has affected him more than he knows.

He turns towards her and leans against the door. Her eyes are huge as she returns his gaze. If he strikes up a conversation, perhaps it will help her work out why she's here and that's as good a place to start as any.

"I was just about to watch a movie," he says, waving the DVD in his hand. She stands rooted to the spot. He sighs and pushes away from the door too quickly, steadying himself on the wall across from him. No doubt, she's noticed this but he doesn't care. He favours her with 'DiNozzo Smile # 87', which is friendly without being predatory. "You might as well come all the way in, _Zee-vah_. Take off your… _shoes_." He delivers that line with intentional innuendo, hoping she'll roll her eyes, make a face, do or say something at his mild flirtation.

Instead, she looks away. _Damn._ "Would you like some wine? I was about to have a glass myself."

He walks slowly passed her, his bare arm brushing against her jacket, and enters his living room. She shivers and he wonders if it is cold outside.

"Wine would be nice," she finally says, the inflection in her voice indicating that she isn't really sure she wants wine at all, but she removes her boots and slides her jacket off.

"Closet," Tony says as he slips into the kitchen, hoping she understands that he's telling her where to put her jacket. He lifts another glass from the cupboard and returns to the living room.

Ziva is standing with her back to him, staring at the clock and the framed photo beneath it. She hasn't changed her clothes since he last saw her at the office and he wonders if she's had anything to eat. He walks to the coffee table, his bare feet silent on the rug, and pours each of them some wine. When he straightens, she still hasn't moved. He tosses the DVD onto the couch and is beside her seconds later. He offers her wine at arms length, gradually introducing it into her line of sight. She pulls herself away from her reverie and accepts the glass with a nod.

"Thank you," she says, and stands there, holding it in her hand.

"A quarter for your thoughts?"

She starts at this and frowns slightly. "I thought it was 'A penny for your thoughts?'"

He shrugs and sips his wine. "The rates have gone up."

The frown deepens. "I don't think I have any thoughts," she begins, "or rather, I _do_ have thoughts, just too many of them." She glances over at him then away again. "You can keep your quarter."

"_Oh_-kay."

"You didn't answer your cell phone."

_Ah. Now we might be getting somewhere._ "No."

"Why not?"

"I… don't actually know where it is right now." She turns to him, looking sceptical. "Well, I _don't_. I threw it… somewhere." He feels warm and nicely buzzed. He smiles at her again, this time increasing the wattage and definitely adding a predatory edge, though he doesn't realize it. He glances at her lips then back to her eyes, and he doesn't realize that, either.

Ziva, however, does.

Her gaze flickers to something behind him then back to his face. "Was that other bottle full when you started?"

"Maybe."

"Why didn't you answer your home number?"

"That was you?"

"Yes."

"Why were you calling?"

"I asked you _first_."

"I didn't reach the phone in time."

"Did you try?"

"No." He takes a step towards her and looks down at her as she tilts her head back to look up at him. "Did you know," he murmurs, "that you have one of the most beautiful faces I have ever seen?"

Ziva takes a step back. "You're drunk," she finally says, looking concerned.

He laughs and turns away, having felt the heat from her body and realising he is too close for comfort. "Not yet, but I'm making tremendous progress."

"Why?"

He drops to the couch and holds a finger up at her. "Ah-ah, you have to answer my question first."

"What question?" She sips her wine, as if she needs something to keep herself occupied. He notes she doesn't follow him to the couch.

"Why were you trying to reach me?"

She sighs and starts to pace. "I wanted to see if you were okay."

"Really?"

"Yes."

"You called my cell and my home to find out if I was okay?"

"Yes! Is that so difficult to believe?"

"There are days when I wonder -"

Ziva stops pacing to stare at him again. "Wonder what?"

"Why it matters to you, one way or another, if I'm okay or not?"

She swallows. "How can you say that? You're my partner." Her tone is trying for indignant but he can tell he's struck a nerve of some kind.

"Have you called McGee?" he asks casually, coolly. "Is he okay? Maybe you should check."

"Tim left with Abby and Jimmy," she informs him tightly, and as he drains his glass she steps forward to pluck it from his hand.

_"Hey!"_

He stands abruptly and reaches to retrieve it.

"Why did you want to get drunk?" Ziva demands. "And why _alone_, Tony?"

She moves swiftly away. Somehow he manages to negotiate the coffee table and closes in on her. Unfamiliar with the apartment, her back hits the wall. He places both hands on either side of her head and leans in until she can feel his warm breath on her cheeks. She has a wine glass in each hand and nowhere to put them. She swallows again.

Tony knows that Ziva can kick his ass so he isn't doing anything that will keep her here if she wants to go. He can tell by the emotions flickering across her face that she almost resolves to leave.

_Almost._

They both notice their breathing has changed. Neither one is oblivious to the chemistry that exists between them. There are times when the sparks fly so high they're surprised it doesn't set off the office smoke detectors. Despite anything else, they are co-workers and even without the rules, which Gibbs has set before them, they know that becoming romantically involved would be a bad idea. They both think - _hope_ - that they're smart enough not to act on it.

And they haven't for almost a year now.

For it isn't just the primal reaction of two people wrestling with hormones, though that is obviously an element of their relationship. He looks into her eyes and sees something he feared he would never see. His stomach flips when he recognizes it, even slightly inebriated as he is, for she is off limits and it isn't fair.

She stares at him and sees the same thing in his eyes; a desire and longing that aren't just about having sex to ease the pain. She can feel a headache starting. He's her partner - _her boss, now_ - and he is off-limits.

_And it isn't fair._

Ziva does nothing to stop him when he kisses her gently on the lips. When he pulls back, she lets him take the glasses from her hands and watches as he sets them on top of the entertainment centre. As he turns his attention back to her, she whispers, "This is a bad idea."

Tony pulls her into his arms and nods in agreement. "A very bad idea."

The next kiss is so fierce and passionate that they each wonder that their clothes haven't dissolved due to spontaneous combustion.

Their hands explore one another with incredible tenderness as he moves tiny kisses down her throat. Neither one tries to manoeuvre the other towards the couch or the bedroom. Neither one speaks because they know what words need to be said and they don't want to hear them. They simply share a few precious moments, standing in Tony's living room, indulging themselves in what it feels like to be touched by someone they love.

Ziva's cell phone rings. Instinctively, she pulls it from her back pocket. Tony's eyes lock with hers as he takes it from her and tosses it onto the couch.

"Not yet," he says huskily. The outside world will intervene eventually but this is _his_ apartment and _his_ rules now.

"It might be important," she protests weakly.

"Then they'll call back." He focuses on her left earlobe and nibbles gently.

Her fingernails dig into his back. "What about Rule # 12?"

"Do I _look_ like Gibbs to you?"

"No, but -"

"I'm not Gibbs. Get used to it."

They kiss once more and don't come up for air until the room is filled with the shrill sound of three telephones ringing. Tony pulls back and growls with frustration. He exchanges a look with Ziva and they silently agree to try to answer the calls. They move in separate directions.

"I can't find my cell," Tony states and picks up his home phone.

Ziva picks up her cell from the couch and answers it.

"DiNozzo."

"David."

They share a look across the room, their voices only seconds apart. She walks towards him and holds out her hand. He clasps it and pulls her to his side then tries to focus on the voice calling for his attention.

"Sorry, what was that?"

_"I said, are you alright?"_

"I'm fine, Abbs."

"_Are you sure? You sound a little funny."_

"Yeah. I'm sure. You?"

Ziva smiles and says into her phone, "Hello, Tim. Yes, I'm here. Sorry, I must have missed your call."

Abby still sounds perky and awake. Tony shakes his head in amazement. "_We're at a bar having chicken wings and shots. Wanna come?"_

"Who is this 'we'?"

_"Tim, Jimmy and me - and I think Tim has finally reached Ziva. With any luck, she'll be able to come down, too. I really don't hate her, you know, I've just been stressed lately. We've called Ducky but his phone is off. Say you'll come over? Please, Tony? I don't think the team should be apart at a time like this."_

_At a time like this._ He almost says 'no'.

_Almost._

"I don't know, Abbs -"

"Voices?" Ziva is saying. She darts a look at Tony and gives his hand a squeeze. "I have the radio on, Tim. No, Tony isn't here -"

"_Is that Ziva? Tim says he thinks he can hear you on Ziva's phone…"_ Her suspicion is clearly evident.

"Really?" He can play innocent for only so long. Abby is too perceptive.

_"Tony -"_

"Where are you?"

"_At the _Fizbin_, but Tony -"_

"I'll see you in fifteen, Abbs," he says, and ends the call.

"You're where? The _Fizbin_?" Ziva smiles and winks at Tony. "I'll see you soon." She flips her phone shut and returns it to her pant's pocket.

"You'll have to drive," he says, grinning.

"I agree, though I never thought I'd live to hear -"

Tony's face darkens and he quickly places a hand over her mouth. "Stop." She looks at him, alarmed. She doesn't know, doesn't understand, _couldn't_ know that the words she just spoke are almost an exact copy of Kate's last words. He doesn't know how to explain it to her and decides not to try. He removes his hand and kisses her quickly.

"Get your jacket and we'll go." He hurries down the hall to his bathroom. He takes care of business, rinses his face and applies fresh deodorant then darts into his bedroom and grabs a clean undershirt, shirt and a pair of socks. He emerges to find Ziva already in her jacket and boots, waiting.

"Nice shirt," she says. He grins. He knows he looks good in dark green silk.

"You didn't leave without me," he says. He leans against the wall and pulls on his socks and shoes.

"Why would I do that?"

"I don't know." He laughs. "I'm a bit drunk."

A demon skitters across her features and she tenses. "That isn't why you -"

"_No."_ He speaks firmly, his face serious, and takes hold of her hand again, massaging her palm with his thumb. "I don't know what we're going to do, Ziva, but I'm _not_ going to use alcohol as an excuse and I'm _not_ going to tell you we should pretend this never happened."

She takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, visibly relaxing. He doesn't know what most of her demons are but he knows he'll be there for her if she needs him. He sighs. _If nothing else, I'll be the comic relief._

She smiles. "One day at a time, then, yes?"

He returns her smile and happens to spot his keys on the rug. He stoops down to grab them with his free hand. As he unbolts the door, he says very clearly, so there can be no mistaking his intentions: "One day at a time."

They both know they almost went too far. They both know they almost missed the chance to act on their emotions.

_Almost._

As it is now, they can wait to see how tomorrow will unfold.


	2. Chapter 2

**October 3, 2006:** This idea still tugs at my mind and won't leave me alone.

For the record, I don't consider myself someone who dwells on the romantic pairings of certain characters if it hasn't been clearly established in the show. I'm big on being true to the universe in which I write, as some of you might know. That's why I thought of Chapter One as a potentially Alternate Universe story, and why it almost didn't see the light of day.

_Almost._

The characters in question could go this route, and some of you were kind enough to point this out to me. Writing 'in character' is another stickler of mine. **(sigh) **I thought it was intriguing to explore, and since the idea persists, I will continue until it is done. :)

As it so happens, we have three - or is it four? - months between the end of Season Three and the beginning of Season Four, so I have more time to explore the 'Absent Gibbs' dynamic than I previously thought. I love the character of Leroy Jethro Gibbs as much as our other heroes, but this is an interesting phase of the team's development and it doesn't look like the show is going to dwell on it much.

This story continues to be set before the start of Season 4. In fact, this second instalment takes place not long after the first. Tony and Ziva continue their evening, though this chapter has more of Ziva's perspective than Tony's. My apologies if, despite my research, the Italian isn't correct.

**October 7, 2006:** I realize I tend to be long-winded when it comes to my author notes - perhaps I have more in common with Dr. Mallard than I was previously aware ;) - but it is the way I'm wired, folks. Many of you have been most gracious with your time when it comes to my writing, both by reading my efforts and, for some, by taking a moment to review as well. Your thoughts and comments are always greatly appreciated.

Thank you for sharing your thoughts on 'Tin Star'. I had a blast writing it. :)

And now for the Declaration: I own none of these characters and no infringement is intended. This hasn't been Betaed so any errors are my own darned fault. To avoid any confusion, the quotes in bold are from the first chapter. To the best of my knowledge, the _Fizbin_ does not exist anywhere but in my head and within the context of this story. I happen to think that's a cryin' shame.

**October 9, 2006:** I'm going to try and post tonight. I hope you continue to enjoy.

**Almost **

**Chapter Two**

**By lilmouse**

_**"Festina lente. (Make haste slowly.)"**_

- _Augustus, first Roman Emperor, 63 BC – AD 14_

The _Fizbin_ is a restaurant in a snappy part of Washington, D.C., which comes under the category of 'reclaimed' by the businesses that now thrive there. Recent history had witnessed a decline within a ten-block radius of the building, but now the area has climbed the social ladder and is part of a safe zone whilst still maintaining a funky edge.

The restaurant is a fun, family place with a bar and dance floor on one side aimed at the single crowd that can afford a loft apartment and vacations in the Bahamas. It isn't a pub, but there _is_ a pool table and you _can_ play darts. There is a science fiction theme throughout, with signed celebrity photos, theatre posters, reproduction décor and paraphernalia from a wide assortment of television programs and movies.

And if you know who Captain Kirk is, then you understand the name. Tuesday is a special night here. They have a draw with randomly marked playing cards for prizes advertised during the rest of the week, and just like in the episode 'A Piece of the Action', the rules of the draw change every time.

Wednesday features the more mundane 'all-you-can-eat-chicken-wings' and Thursday is Latin night, with a live band playing salsa music.

It is almost 2300 hours - or eleven o'clock at night, depending on your preference - before Special Agent Tony DiNozzo and Officer Ziva David arrive at the _Fizbin. _Although it is late, there is a decent crowd and with one hour to go, it is still Thursday.

Ziva parks the car within sight of the door out of habit. It is a rental - _her third_ - and it probably doesn't qualify on Tony's list of 'chick cars'. That isn't why she chose it but it pleases her in some small, petty way. She turns off the engine but doesn't withdraw the key immediately. The light from the dashboard provides a gentle glow. She shifts in her seat to look at Tony only to find him looking back. He seems calm and in control for someone who has consumed more than a bottle of wine by himself, and not at all arrogant or over-confident. He is different like this, more comfortable, more - Ziva can't find the right word in English.

_And he does look good in that dark green silk shirt._

They are here to meet up with Abby, Tim and Jimmy, and together conclude the day that saw the departure of their leader, Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs. Tomorrow, he will not be at his desk, in the lab, in the Morgue or even in the building. He won't be driving at high speed to a crime scene or interrogating a suspect.

He has left them, abruptly, and they must come to terms with his decision.

She takes a deep breath. "Tony -"

"We can do this, Ziva." His voice is even, sure.

She shakes her head. "That isn't -"

"We can keep this professional."

"Tony, I -"

"I don't want to pretend that kiss didn't happen."

_**Ziva does nothing to stop him when he kisses her gently on the lips.**_

"Which one?"

**_The next kiss is so fierce and passionate that they each wonder that their clothes haven't dissolved due to spontaneous combustion._**

"Any of them, actually."

_**Their hands explore one another with incredible tenderness as he moves tiny kisses down her throat.**_

She shakes her head; he is distracting her. "We covered that at your apartment. What I want to say is -"

"Did you know your lips pucker like a small flower when you're trying to focus?"

Her eyes narrow. "You are insufferable."

He grins cheekily. "It turns you on, doesn't it?"

Ziva feels the urge to hit him and kiss him simultaneously. She chooses to do neither but the temptation is strong. "Stop interrupting me."

"Sorry. Sometimes I can't help myself."

"I've noticed."

"It's a gift."

"You're doing it again."

The grin widens. "I am, aren't I?"

His eyes are bright and by the faint light, the weight of their most recent case fades into the background. Tony resembles the mischievous frat boy he occasionally pretends to be. Ziva decides to take this as a good sign, that he's finally relaxing, that he might actually enjoy the rest of the evening.

She isn't sure when that became important to her, but then, she still isn't sure why she chose to seek the company of her partner in the first place.

It seemed like a good idea at the time. She was alone and she suspected he was alone and that didn't seem right. There was no plan, no preconceived notion of what she would say or do or how he would react to her arrival.

A series of passionate kisses in his living room had been unexpected. Not unpleasant, but definitely unexpected.

Tony undoes his seatbelt and reaches for the door handle. "Shall we go in?"

"Wait." She places a hand on his shoulder. He stops moving and waits. The silk feels decadent under her fingers. He didn't grab a jacket. She doesn't know why, as it is a bit cool tonight, but then he has admitted to being slightly inebriated - _her words, not his_ - so perhaps his judgement has been affected when it comes to temperature.

Considering the heat she can feel through his shirt, he obviously doesn't need a jacket. Her mouth is dry. She swallows and clears her throat.

"This is going to be just a… group gathering," she starts, uncertain. "Right?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean exactly what I say. This isn't a - a _date_. This is a - a _team thing_, yes?"

She is fluent in several languages and has managed to negotiate surrenders, handle difficult interrogations and even communicate the subtleties of diplomacy - when pressed. Why are simple words failing her now?

"This is a 'team thing', yes, as you so… eloquently put it."

She can't tell if Tony is making fun of her or if this is his reaction to being shunted to the side. She doesn't want to hurt him or discount the few moments of understanding they achieved in his apartment not half an hour ago, but it is dangerous to think about it too much.

Especially right now, as they sit in her rental car in the near dark, and he looks so devastating.

_And devastated?_

"Then we must behave like we usually do," Ziva states firmly and reaches over before she loses her nerve. She fumbles with the top two buttons of his shirt and spreads the fabric open when she is done. Tony has remained perfectly still, watching her, his Adam's apple bobbing hard, once. Her fingers tentatively touch his collarbone then she moves back in her seat. He starts to follow but stops himself. She notes his right hand is gripping the dashboard very tightly.

"What was that about, _Zee-vah_?" His voice is husky, low, and curious.

"You are a single man going into a bar, Tony." She averts her gaze so she doesn't meet his eyes. "The American male out to paint the town pink."

"Red."

"_Red._ You did the buttons on your shirt all the way to the top, and since I am your _co-worker_ and not your _date_, it would be suspicious if you didn't dress the part."

He stares at her. She can feel the weight of his thoughts pressing upon her in the small confines of the car.

"Very observant," he murmurs. "I didn't think you'd notice."

Her eyes, wide and wary, dart back to his. "So you did those buttons up intentionally." It isn't a question.

He nods, once. "I'm not cruising tonight."

She looks away again and sighs impatiently. "But you _are_ - or you would be, if you and I - if _we_ hadn't - if -"

Tony moves slowly, so he won't alarm her, she guesses. _Very smart, on his part. Wouldn't want to have any broken bones._ The hand that was gripping the dashboard is now cupping her chin and encouraging her to face him. She has seen enough American romantic comedies - _one is enough_ - to recognize that they are rapidly approaching a touchingly awkward moment. This is the part when he looks into her eyes and tells her he will always be there for her. They will always be friends. The team will survive the absence of Special Agent Gibbs and grow stronger, closer. They will get through this rough patch, these complicated emotions, and establish a rhythm that will work for everyone.

Ziva, as the female lead of this little scene, will be stoic and smile and certainly not be bitter because it isn't as if she has given Tony her heart. He can't trample something he doesn't have. She will never give her heart that easily to anyone again. And she isn't the type to cry. She is a tough-as-nails Mossad agent. She has loved and lost and the pain of that still lingers.

Thinking in film terms is a very 'Tony' moment for her and she almost laughs.

_Almost._

She lets him turn her head so they can complete the scene and get on with the rest of their lives.

When their eyes meet, Tony manages one word - "_Damn."_ Then they are straining across the seats, Ziva still held by her seatbelt. He grips the sides of her head with both hands and curls his long fingers into her dark hair. She is hampered by her belt but meets him in the middle, regardless of the pull across her chest. Her left hand drags through his short brown hair and finally rests firmly on the back of his head.

The kiss is soft and lingering, with a hint of desperation. It is a lover's kiss, not just a kiss of temporary lust. If it were only that, they would stop immediately. If it were only lust, it would be easy. They both know they should stop. They are both aware that they are necking in the car like a couple of teenagers, and in a public parking lot, no less.

They work together. _Rule # 12._ On this point, maybe Gibbs _was_ right.

They pull apart reluctantly, breathing hard. Remembering she's supposed to be going somewhere, Ziva tries to use her left hand to remove the key from the ignition but with no success. Tony releases her hair, reaches over with his right hand and does it for her. He places the keys in her palm and moves back against the upholstery. The dashboard light fades. They are left in the dark but for a few lights in the parking lot.

"Hope we didn't give anyone a show," Tony muses, tipping his head to the right to indicate the restaurant windows two car rows across from them. They probably haven't, as it _is_ dark and the diners will be focussed on their food and companions. A flush creeps up her neck, regardless.

"So do I." She quickly undoes her seatbelt and opens the door. The small interior light comes on. Tony is watching her. She gets out of the car, closes the door and leans back against it. The car shifts slightly as Tony emerges, closing the passenger door with just enough force to secure it. He isn't slamming it or failing to close it properly. He isn't losing control. There was a time when she thought him very immature, especially when he didn't get his way or have the last word. He is still like that, sometimes, but she's pleased he isn't behaving like that right now. Not when it is something so important, with implications sharp, like a knife.

Ziva finds the key fob and pushes the button. The car locks with a click and a tiny, gasping chime. He walks around the back of the car and meets her at the driver's door.

"How's this for the story? I knew from Abby that you were going to be here. I'd had some wine and didn't think I could drive safely, so I called and asked you to pick me up." He smiles, apparently happy with his lie. "Sound good?"

Ziva isn't sure how to respond. It sounds fine, plausible even, and she doesn't want the rest of the team to know the truth.

But it is a lie, the first of many potential lies that could build as she and Tony take it 'one day at a time'. Such a nice, general phrase, that, and she'd been the one to voice it. And he'd agreed.

_One day at a time -_

She opens her mouth to say that despite anything they might truly feel for one another, it would be best to ignore it.

A finger rests upon her lips before she can speak.

"You're doing that 'small flower' thing again," he says quietly, and removes his finger.

"Tony -"

"Don't."

"I -"

"_Please."_

That one word is spoken quietly. It isn't a command, it isn't begging, it is just a request. _He knows what I am trying to say_, Ziva realizes, _and he doesn't want to hear it._ She stares at him and decides her choice of wording is incorrect. _Not _want_, but _need_. He doesn't _need _to hear it. He knows we tread on dangerous ground._

_And so do I._

Yet here they are, standing close enough to touch but not touching. She looks at one of the buttons on his shirt. She can smell a hint of his cologne, mixed with whatever hair care products he uses. It all blends together well and smells like… Tony. She has an excellent sensory memory, and the way Tony smells has been duly recorded and can be recalled at whim.

His scent has been slowly driving her mad since her first week on the team.

Aside from the obvious scents, she also associates Tony with food. It alarmed her when she acknowledged it at her two-month mark. That makes him… _edible_, and it isn't a good image when she has to sit across from him every day. The ethnic origin of the food doesn't matter - from pizza to Thai spring rolls, fried rice to French fries - they make her think of Tony.

He uses something on his skin, something natural, like an oatmeal facial scrub perhaps. She considers that sort of thing strictly a pamper product, used only for special occasions and visits to the spa. Tony uses items like this every day, along with a shampoo that makes him smell like dessert. She could almost taste him when they sat in the car together.

Ziva sighs. She is doomed. She tilts her head back to look up at him again and he smiles. It is one of his many, friendly smiles. She has witnessed a wide variety of Tony's smiles, and some of them are not at all friendly. She wonders if she's seen the same one twice. This smile seems particularly genuine, almost vulnerable. The wine must have made him relax sufficiently to let down some barriers.

Then he says three words that help her understand that he is more sober than she thought.

"I trust you."

She has been here before, another time and place, another man who bears little resemblance to Special Agent DiNozzo. That man had trusted her, too. She had shared her heart with him, and then he had died.

"Andiamo."

Italian is one of the languages on his dossier. It is one of the languages in which she is fluent. As they walk towards the restaurant, casual, not touching, she wishes his voice didn't make that one, simple word sound so good.

_**To Be Continued…**_


	3. Chapter 3

**October 15, 2006: **My continued thanks to those who read and those who have taken the time to review. It is greatly appreciated. :)

There will be a case or two during the course of this story, along with exploring the characters, but it will take a few chapters to get there. I have three - or is it four? Help, please:) - months to get through before Gibbs returns, and no, I won't be writing three chapters for every day at NCIS, lol!

The usual applies: Not been Betaed, no infringement intended, yadda, yadda, yadda.

**October 17, 2006:** Hoping to post this after tonight's episode. Please note that I love to dance but don't do so very often, much to my regret. If I haven't understood or conveyed any of the steps properly, my apologies.

Enjoy!

**Almost**

**Chapter Three**

**By lilmouse**

"**_(Dancing is) a perpendicular expression of a horizontal desire."_**

_- George Bernard Shaw, 1856-1950_

The _Fizbin_ isn't packed and there aren't many families at this time of night, but it is busy enough that they wait a few minutes before the hostess, a perky brunette with a big smile, greets them. Her nametag says 'Sarah'.

"We're here to meet someone," Tony states, raising his voice slightly to compete with the volume. He points towards the bar and she nods, grabbing two menus of their late-night munchies and beginning the journey between tables.

A man in a suit, waving a glass and saying something about not having seen their waitress for a while, hails Sarah. She pauses and leans down to hear him. The rhythm of the music lures Anthony DiNozzo through the restaurant and he takes the lead from Sarah. He knows where the bar is located. Ziva David is following at a distance he recognizes as 'shotgun': close enough to cover his back but not so close that she'll be in the way if he has to use his gun.

_We're in a bar in Washington, D.C., not in enemy territory,_ he thinks, slightly surprised at her stance, then he wonders why he would be surprised at all.

_Old habits._ He has them, too.

Tony resists the urge to turn and catch her eye, resists the urge to reach back and take her hand as they enter the party atmosphere. He doesn't know if she'd appreciate the gesture. They have to play it cool, despite the evening's revelations.

_Damn._

He's finding it difficult not to move a little to the music as he stops just inside the bar area and scans the room, looking for McGee because he's the tallest of the three. It is habit for him to check out the crowd, something he used to do at Ohio State for completely different reasons, something he did as a cop when he was all business and seeking perps. Now he finds he's still checking the faces that turn towards him, even though it has been the Day From Hell. He thinks of the man who stopped Sarah, the hostess, and runs that face through his internal database of "Most Wanted" posters. He does the same with everyone he can see in the room before him. He isn't on duty but that isn't stopping his brain from racing through the possibilities.

_Old habits._

Most of the faces return to conversing with their companions. A few linger on him. There are some predators in the bar tonight - not unusual at all - and they seem to find his arrival potentially interesting. He isn't stupid. He's male, fits an appealing demographic when it comes to age, height and physical fitness, and he isn't wearing a wedding band. It's perfectly natural for him to get some attention.

And he does look very good in his dark green silk shirt.

A few eyes slide behind him. He smirks when one man looks startled and turns quickly back to his drink. _Wonder what Ziva just did. Have to ask her later._

Tony makes eye contact with one particular female. She smiles, showing teeth, and her gaze drifts south. If her eyes were lasers, he'd have burns in his groin. Not subtle, this one. He wonders how drunk he really is after a bottle-and-a-bit of wine, and notes her legs go on forever beneath that short skirt. If he were on his own, would he pursue that heated look and deal with the pain of the cooled sheets beside him in the morning?

Thankfully, he'll never know.

He sighs_. Old habits, indeed. _Her eyes return to his. He smiles at her, 'DiNozzo Smile # 84', which says he's noticed her interest but she isn't really his type. She raises an eyebrow, not believing him. His smile deepens. A few who are still watching him sigh. Looking directly at the woman, he turns his body, reaches behind him and places an arm unerringly around Ziva's shoulders.

Ziva glances from his face to the woman with the long legs and seems to instantly understand the situation. _Just like being undercover._ Her arm slides easily around his waist and she smiles, stretching up to Tony's head so he can hear her.

"Don't worry, my little Hairy Butt. I'll keep you safe." Her voice is light, teasing, but she's tense. He can feel it.

He turns his gaze fully on Ziva, his eyes trying to convey to her that she is the only woman in the room that matters. It's not a good idea to do this in public, considering their status at work, but if anyone who is watching right now believes they are 'together', then neither of them will have to deal with intrusions tonight. He's making an assumption that Ziva wants to avoid that possibility as well and hopes she isn't insulted.

Her eyes widen slightly. She doesn't look insulted. He bends down so she doesn't have to stretch, until the tips of their noses touch. He takes a deep breath, nostrils flaring, and murmurs, "Sweet Cheeks, I have no doubt about that, whatsoever."

He savours the smell of her skin, which can only be described by him as 'essential Ziva', and wonders, not for the first time, what she uses on her hair. It is dark and curly and gleams in the scattered lighting of the bar area. He remembers the feel of it in his hands while they were in the car, a glorious, silky net to tug and weave with his fingers as they kissed.

Tony recalls how she looked as they rolled on the bed while they were undercover, pretending to make passionate love for the benefit of anyone who was watching. Her hair had slid over her shoulders and tickled his chin. It had been difficult to maintain the façade, keep it professional, and not start whispering words of seduction. He'd barely known her then, and yet it was almost criminal to waste such an opportunity with such a beautiful - _and energetic_ - woman.

He's slept with women on much shorter acquaintance and with far less attraction.

Tony straightens. Not two minutes have elapsed since they walked in the door; it has happened that fast. Sarah, the hostess, joins them. Patrons returning to their seats from the dance floor are jostling her but she's still smiling. _Must be used to it -_

"I see them," Ziva says suddenly. Tony turns to look where she is pointing.

He should have known he'd find them like this, though really, even as he thinks that, he knows he couldn't have known. It's been a long day, week, month - _year_. He has to relax and take it all in stride. _Let the roller coaster ride begin._

He sighs and slips his arm from Ziva's shoulders. She steps away and he firmly clasps her hand. They exchange a look.

"We're friends, _Zee-vah_," Tony says, leaning close again so he'll be heard. "I think we can get away with holding hands."

W_hat would Abby call this? A 'public display of affection'?_

"Or I might lose you in the crowd?" Ziva asks mildly. He can tell by her eyes that she means the woman with the long legs.

"No," he says. She shrugs. He releases her hand. "Fine."

"Fine."

Tony smiles tightly. Their first fight as a couple - the relationship they can't acknowledge. _Is that a headache? Nah… _He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, then approaches the edge of the dance floor.

It isn't a very large space and there are six couples and four women bouncing to the Salsa music. None of them are actually doing Salsa steps, though Tony notes at least one of the couples can keep a beat.

Forensic Specialist Abby Sciuto and Special Agent Timothy McGee are not that couple.

Abby has always danced to her own organic rhythm, and though she's got energy and moves, she isn't really paying attention to the style of the music. It isn't her scene but she doesn't hold that against the band. They are dressed in subdued traditional Cuban garb - _no Ricky Ricardo here_ - and playing very well. Abby, all black and spiky, is undulating to her inner drummer, eyes closed. Across from her, McGee looks rather desperate as he gamely shuffles his feet and moves his arms like he's knitting with very large needles.

"Disco is dead," Tony tells him and McGee jumps.

"Tony! Hey." He loses track of the music and stops dancing. "Hi, Ziva."

"Hello, Tim."

The greetings would sound very civilized if they didn't have to yell at one another to be heard. Abby opens her eyes and squeals, jumping into Tony's arms and wrapping her legs around his waist.

"You came!"

_That sounds almost lewd_, Tony thinks.

"Of course I did," he says, hugging her because he doesn't really have another option. She's always fun to hug, anyway. Inspired, he spins her a few times. He's sure that people are staring but he doesn't give a damn. She laughs and it is a good sound to hear. When he'd last seen her, her eyes had been huge, a stressed pale green drowning with unshed tears.

If he hadn't been busy choking with shock, Tony might have stopped Gibbs right there and then for doing this to them - and especially to Abby. She didn't deserve that kind of treatment, no matter how many sailors had died on that ship. None of them did, but Gibbs had a special relationship with her. She was precious to him, and today, he'd left her with the same wave of distant anger as he'd done with all of them. Even his words to McGee and Ziva seemed more personal than how he'd dealt with Abby.

_Bastard._

"Dance with me!" Abby releases his waist, stands on her own two feet and pulls him backwards by the sleeves of his shirt. Most of her eye make-up is gone. He glances at McGee. He looks sombre. _Shit._ Tony curses himself silently for bolting to his apartment rather than staying with the others. They are his co-workers, his _friends_ and they deserve better treatment from him, as well.

He vows he won't be like Gibbs, no matter how much coffee he drank in his stead while their leader was in a coma. He'll switch back to tea for a while and cleanse his soul.

_He won't be a bastard._

"C'mon!" Abby pauses, as if to centre herself, then starts to move in a slow, hypnotic dance of her own.

"Abbs." She looks at him as he gently takes both her hands in his. "If we're going to dance," he says matter-of-factly, "let's do it right."

He starts with a basic step, a forward-backward motion, Cuban style, letting her watch their feet as she follows his example: three steps in four beats, one-two-three-_kick_. Five-six-seven-_kick_. She's excited, eager, and picks it up fairly quickly, even if she still tries to bounce rather than slide. In Salsa, you don't travel much over the dance floor but stay in a fairly fixed area: Economy of motion.

He hasn't danced like this in years. Clubbing doesn't require you to know Latin or traditional ballroom dancing and it is one area where he doesn't like to show off. He's doing this now for Abby. He smiles at the wonder in her eyes. _Guess even one of the smartest women I know didn't suspect I could really dance._

After a few minutes, she's beaming. Happy, proud, relaxed and having fun. He tries an underarm turn without warning and she manages it and laughs. They lose their rhythm and he leans in to her ear and says, "That's great, Abbs, but I need a break."

The grin he gets is worth every ounce of focus and sweat.

"I wore out Tony DiNozzo!"

"_You_ are the Energizer Bunny!" he counters good-naturedly.

He can smell the whiskey on her breath and wonders how many shots she's had. Abby isn't known for drinking much and usually passes out at staff parties if she has a few glasses of wine. He's gone clubbing with her before and she has one or two mixed drinks, like vodka and orange juice, but that's it.

Having shots is unusual and an indication of her stress.

He takes her hand firmly and leads them from the floor. The woman with long legs is watching them from a place at the bar but he ignores her. McGee waves to them and he says 'excuse me' about five times before he reaches the booth. Ziva has removed her jacket and is turning a tumbler containing a dark liquid clockwise on the table in front of her. His guess is rum and coke. McGee has a fruity drink with a cherry and an umbrella at the top: Mai Tai. Jimmy Palmer is stuck in the middle of the u-shaped bench, drinking what Tony suspects is ginger ale and looking a bit nervous. He's like a grown-up Harry Potter, staying out late and not sure if Dumbledore will approve.

And he's giggling.

_Rictusempra._

A little Hermione Granger lives in Tony's building and sometimes helps her mother fold laundry while he waits for his clothes to dry. Would it surprise his friends that he remembers the name for the Tickling Charm? Probably.

"You just having ginger ale there, Jimmy?"

The young man stops giggling. "Uh, I am now, Agent DiNozzo. I've had my limit."

Abby drops down beside McGee and picks at the remains of an appetizer platter. There are chicken bones and some bruschetta topping and a few carrots. She grabs a carrot and nibbles it daintily. There are two menus on the table. Sarah the hostess is very diligent.

"Too many Shirley Temples?" Tony asks, needling him out of habit. He slides in next to Ziva, as it is the only spot remaining, and glances at one of the menus. He isn't really interested in Palmer's beverages but if he doesn't have some normal interaction soon, he just might explode.

"Jimmy had a few shots with us," Abby states and smiles at Jimmy, like he's passed some sort of initiation.

And maybe he has.

"Okay," he says, and chooses something at random. He hesitates then turns to Ziva and casually asks if she wants anything to eat.

He is acutely aware that three pairs of eyes are staring at them, watching carefully.

_Damn._

"Yes," she says, and chooses the chicken quesadillas. He picks a burger with sautéed onions, fries, and a beer and studiously ignores Abby's narrowed gaze while he flags down their server.

_Damn and Damn._

"How about more chicken wings, guys?" he asks. "My treat."

And smiles. He meets Abby's suspicious eyes and _smiles_. He can tell that she's struggling not to grin, sensing he's up to something but not certain what it is. He isn't going to help her solve the puzzle - if he can avoid it.

"That'd be great," Palmer says, oblivious - or maybe just polite. "Could we have some honey garlic this time?"

McGee makes a face. "Uh -"

Then their server is standing beside him and Tony has to make a choice.

"Hi, _Debbie_," he begins, reading her nametag. Debbie smiles. She looks too young to work in a bar but obviously isn't. The _Fizbin_ is a law-abiding establishment. "Ready?" She nods. She isn't really ready but she doesn't know that yet. He takes a deep breath and rattles off a list of items without pause. "I'll have the Oxmyx Burger with sautéed onions and _Fizbin_ fries, an order of the Iotian chicken quesadillas, a large order of the Krako chicken wings with honey garlic, a large order of the Krako chicken wings with mild barbeque sauce _and_ a side of hot sauce, two orders of _Fizbin_ bruschetta _and_ the _Horizon_ veggie platter."

He sighs and hands both menus to the stunned young woman. Why they had to name the food so loyally after the Star Trek episode is something he'll probably never understand.

Tony smiles at Debbie. "Oh, and a Rickard's Red. Thanks." She nods mutely and hurries away, still scribbling.

"That's a lot of food," McGee observes.

"I'm hungry," Tony says. He had a pizza about four hours ago but he's always burned away the calories like a furnace. Used to drive healthy-eating Kate nuts. "And I'm _sharing_. Like I said, it's on me."

"Thanks, Tony."

"You're welcome, Palmer."

"You guys got here at the same time," Abby says.

_Subtle, Abbs - like a brick._

"I called Ziva to ask for a ride. I've had some wine and didn't feel safe to drive."

_Yeah, that sounded good._

Abby looks at him, not blinking. "Oh."

Tony leans back and tries to get comfortable in the booth. It looks like a replica of 1950's diner-style seating, like something from 'Invaders from Mars'. He hesitates then glances at the wall above Palmer's head. Sure enough, there is a framed poster from the 1953 sci-fi movie. The artwork isn't particularly inspired or done with a high level of artistic skill, but the story had still scared the shit out of him when he was a kid.

Just looking at the poster makes the back of his neck itch.

"So, food will be a while." He takes Ziva's hand and pulls her from the booth. "Let's dance."

She doesn't fight him and for that he is very grateful. If he stays, he feels like he's going to be grilled for information and he doesn't want to endure that. He's here for them but also wants to lose himself a bit. What better way than to dance?

"Tony -"

"Sorry, I had to get away."

"We only just got here."

"I know."

"We can't avoid them forever."

He stops and she bumps into him.

"I don't _want_ to avoid them," he states firmly, stepping onto the dance floor. "I just… don't want to talk to them right now."

"When _will_ you talk to them?"

"Once the food has arrived." Tony links his fingers with hers and draws her closer. "And we've had a dance."

The band starts another piece and Tony prepares to teach Ziva how to Salsa.

He quickly realizes that won't be necessary.

She knows the basic step and he has to pay attention to keep up with her. He leads them into the "Cuba step", known as 'Guapea', where he performs a backward basic on one-two-three and a forward basic on five-six-seven. Ziva follows, mirroring his movement. He hasn't danced the Salsa with a trained partner since -

"Where did you learn how to Salsa?" He does an underarm turn. She is flawless.

She raises an eyebrow, not looking at her feet the way a novice would do. "Where did _you _learn to Salsa?"

"Lessons," he manages, doing a cross-body lead, referred to as 'Dile que no'. "A long time ago."

"Your body has not forgotten."

He grins. "Like riding a bike."

They return to the basic step and Tony lets the music and his poorly practiced dancing muscles dictate the next moves. Spot turn, circling on the same spot, eyes locked on one another, breathless. Another underarm turn then they circle one another again, bodies pressed close. The other dancers have moved towards the edge, giving them room, and a small crowd is clapping them on to the beat of the music. Tony notes the band is grinning in unified delight, and he wonders how often they encounter someone who knows - really knows - how to dance.

_Guapea. Dile que no._

He is energized and excited and can't keep his eyes off Ziva. Her face is flushed as she lets him lead. He guesses she's tried to dance with partners who don't have her training, rather like the girls at the Grade Eight graduation who always seem to know how to waltz while the boys merely stumble.

Tony hadn't stumbled but then, he'd had lessons since he was six, so by the age of thirteen, he was sweeping the girls off their feet.

He can tell that the music is coming to a close. He spins her to her left, grips her left shoulder with his right arm, blocking her body at the end of the spin. She leans back, trusting him, while he supports her by holding her shoulder, and they finish with a dip. Ziva is briefly horizontal with the floor. The crowd applauds wildly. Tony lifts her back up and kisses her before she has a chance to protest.

Their audience _really_ likes that part.

The kiss is lingering, sensual, as if the dancing was just the prelude to this moment. Both of them know, for the umpteenth time this evening that they should stop. Neither of them wants to. It is the inevitable conclusion to their Salsa foreplay. They keep it fairly tame; neither one is really into exhibitionism.

The music ends with a flourish. Ziva places a hand on his chest as they finally come up for air. Tony kisses her on the tip of her nose. She looks uncertain. He isn't used to that from her. "Tony -"

He almost doesn't let her go.

_Almost._

"I know," he whispers and steps back. They bow to the audience and camp it up. They bow to the band. Lots of compliments flow around them as they leave the floor and return to the booth. They are holding hands and she isn't pulling away this time. He doesn't know what that means but he hopes it is a good sign.

_One day at a time -_

The food has just arrived at the table. It looks and smells incredible. Tony slides in after Ziva, reaches for his beer and gulps half of it down. He's sweating and needs a long, cold shower for more reasons than he wants to focus on.

Three pairs of eyes are regarding them. It is as if their friends haven't moved or continued to interact since they left to dance.

Abby clears her throat. "So, Tony," she says, permitting herself a mischievous grin. "You guys were pretty hot out there. Do you always Salsa on the first date?"

McGee sighs and rolls his eyes, giving the impression that they'd discussed a different approach, which Abby has chosen to ignore. Palmer just smiles. Tony and Ziva glance at one another sideways.

_So much for keeping it quiet._

**_To Be Continued…_**


	4. Chapter 4

**October 21, 2006:** My continued thanks to those who read and those who have taken the time to review. It is greatly appreciated. :)

Still don't know if I have three months or four months - I could really use some help with this, guys, lol! - so drop me a line, please.

The usual applies: Not been Betaed, no infringement intended, yadda, yadda, yadda.

Once again, more of Ziva's perspective. Please note that I am not familiar with Yiddish and have relied on the Internet to help me get that right. My apologies if I haven't. I might alternate or, like 'Tin Star', periodically give another one of our favourite characters a chapter to explore.

The usual disclaimer applies: I don't own these characters but I doubt anyone will mind if I play with them for a while. :)

**January 16, 2007:** What the heck happened? FFN had some problems - okay, quite a few problems - so I wrote three-quarters of this chapter and then left it. FFN wouldn't let me post a chapter on another story or let me review stories I was trying to follow, so I figured I had some time. Then the holidays hit, and then I fell ill. So, here we are…

My apologies.

::sigh::

Anyone remember this one, lol? ;)

Enjoy!

**Almost**

**Chapter Four**

**By lilmouse**

"**_The best way out is always through."_**

- _Robert Frost_

**_"You know what charm is: a way of getting the answer yes without having asked a clear question."_**

_- Albert Camus, 1913 - 1960, 'La Chute' (The Fall), 1956_

Officer Ziva David contemplates her Iotian chicken quesadillas before looking at the faces of the three people across from her.

"We aren't dating."

Her voice speaks in unison with the man to her right. She feels Special Agent Tony DiNozzo shift beside her, the silk of his left shirt sleeve brushing the back of her hand as he leans his arms on the table. He laughs quietly and takes another sip of his beer.

"And we are obviously unanimous about it," he adds, and looks at her sideways - and smiles. It is a nice smile, a sweet smile - _a mischievous smile_. Ziva struggles briefly not to smile back but loses the battle. She doesn't understand why. She possesses the ultimate poker skills and should be able to control her reactions, or at least keep her mask of calm in place. She only had a few sips of wine at Tony's apartment and is nursing a rum and coke so she can't blame alcohol for the smile she provides.

Ziva permits herself to turn her head and face those green eyes directly. He looks a shade too cocky, given their circumstances. She purses her lips slightly. _When doesn't he look cocky?_

"Your Oxmyx burger is getting cold," she points out politely and moves her right leg so that it slides deliberately along his left leg. Ziva doesn't want him to forget the heat of their bodies while they danced. She reaches for one of her Iotian triangles and takes a bite, her eyes not leaving his.

"Don't let the wings go to waste," Tony says, and gestures to the plates of food with a flick of his hand. He's talking to the other three people at the table but he is looking at her, the way he did when the woman with the long legs was trying to get his attention. _As if I am the only one who matters._ Then he faces front, picks up his burger lovingly with both hands and licks his lips before taking a big bite.

Ziva looks away. _Touché._

She tries to focus on her food and not on the appreciative noises coming from Tony's throat. She selects a chicken wing and casually notes the non-verbal communication around her.

Jimmy Palmer's smile falters a bit when Ziva glances in his direction, and he pushes his glasses back from where they've slid down his nose. She makes him nervous sometimes. She knows this, and guesses that right now, the situation is sufficiently uncomfortable to make him wonder if she is angry with him. She isn't, but she'll have to deal with that later.

Next to him is Special Agent Timothy McGee. He looks from her to Tony then shares a look with the other two present. He seems a bit nervous, too, but also tired and concerned. Jimmy shrugs at Tim and places some honey garlic wings on his plate. He doesn't see them every day, doesn't share the same dynamic, so he isn't sufficiently informed to be of much help. Ziva senses he doesn't really want to be involved.

She knows that once upon a time, Tim was frequently afraid of her, as if he were uncertain which way to jump to avoid her emotional shrapnel, but lately he has only been worried for his life when it really matters. He meets her gaze and there is nothing there that accuses her of doing anything wrong.

Forensic Specialist Abby Sciuto playfully slaps McGee on the arm. Once she has his attention, she raises her eyebrows and her smug grin says, "I told you so" like only she can manage. The smile is loaded, actually. Ziva thinks it also says: "You didn't see this coming, did you?" and "You owe me fifty bucks!" McGee rolls his eyes and grabs a barbeque chicken wing. He chews on it, worrying it like a dog would a bone, smearing sauce on his chin. He can't seem to relax completely.

Abby turns her grin on Ziva. The lab technician is protective of her friends and isn't known for keeping quiet if she has something to say. Ziva would be surprised if the topic were dropped.

"Yeah," Abby says, nodding her head as if she is giving something thorough consideration. "You two _aren't_ dating and I _enjoy_ wearing _pink_."

"Man this is _good_," Tony says, his mouth full. Half the burger has already been devoured. He releases the hold he has on it with his left hand long enough to nudge his plate closer to Ziva. "Help yourself to some _Fizbin_ fries, if you like."

"You can't distract me from this, Tony DiNozzo," Abby states firmly.

He wiggles his eyebrows at her. "Wouldn't _dream_ of it. Have a wing."

Abby makes a face and picks a piece of broccoli from the veggie platter instead. She plunges it into the little ramekin of blue cheese dip and gestures with it across the table. "You _know_ what Gibbs would say."

Ziva can feel him tense, almost imperceptibly. A dollop of relish falls from his burger and makes a small splat on his plate. He doesn't get anything on his shirt.

"He isn't here, Abbs." Tony's voice is quiet, calm, and still audible despite the noise around them. Abby stares at him for a moment, not blinking, then puts the whole piece of broccoli in her mouth, crunching on it as if it were a comment in itself.

"How is everything?"

Debbie, their server, is dutifully checking to ensure their evening at the _Fizbin_ is going well.

"Great," Jimmy says, a bit too loud, but Debbie doesn't seem to mind.

"Can I get you another Rickard's?"

Tony smiles at her. "Absolutely," he states, and she blushes before hurrying away.

Ziva frowns and bites into another triangle. _He isn't even trying and the girl reacts to his charm._ Ziva isn't sure how much of it is cultivated and how much is just natural talent. Either way, it's dangerous, and she wonders why she's never thought much about that before tonight.

"Abbs," Tony says, sucking lightly on his fingers, burger completely consumed. "We really aren't dating."

"Then why am I getting all this UST from you guys?"

"You don't give up, do you?" Tony asks lightly.

"That's what my family tells me, especially when I'm trying to find where they've hidden the Christmas presents."

Ziva raises her eyebrows. "What is 'UST'?"

"'Unresolved sexual tension'." Tony reaches for a chicken wing as he speaks. "And maybe there is some of that." He grins. Ziva stares at him. He shrugs. "You're a beautiful, intelligent woman, Ziva. I have a pulse and I'm not stupid." He bites into the chicken wing and turns to Abby. "But if you're picking up any 'unresolved sexual tension', that's because it _is_ 'unresolved'."

She wishes she wasn't staring at him but she is and she can't seem to stop. Tony has just complimented her in front of the rest of the team and admitted that he doesn't think it unreasonable for people to suspect that he's attracted to her. Ziva decides it would be prudent to try some of the celery sticks and does so, just to give her something else to do.

Just to give her time to think.

If Tony DiNozzo wasn't her partner at NCIS, didn't share office space, local slang or flirty innuendo, would she find him attractive? If she'd come to the _Fizbin _on her own, just to relax and enjoy the music, and he'd offered to buy her a drink or asked her to dance, what would she say? Would she brush him off, put him down; tell him she isn't into scaring adolescent males so he'd better try another target? Or would she let him buy her that drink and risk a dance with the handsome man?

Yes, she'd notice him - who wouldn't? - but she doesn't do 'casual'. Before she came to the United States, she occasionally had an assignment that required intimacy, but for that she had no choice. It was all part of the job. Flirting with her fellow officers, when their lives were in fairly constant danger of ending violently and before they turned thirty? Sure.

The only man she'd dared to love had died right in front of her, just as they'd finished lunch, a bomb shattering the restaurant wall and her heart. His body had shielded her from the worst of it. After smashing her to the floor, the air knocked out of her lungs, she'd struggled to move. He hadn't answered her pleas to speak. She'd rolled them both so he lay on the floor and assessed his injuries as people screamed around her and the building burned. His blood had flowed between her fingers as she'd made a futile attempt to halt the bleeding. The gaping wound in his torso was irrelevant. It turned out that it didn't matter what she did. It didn't matter what they might have promised to each other, the future they'd tentatively discussed for when the fighting stopped - when they chose to let someone else do it for them. He had died instantly from the debris that had crushed the back of his skull.

"Ziva?"

It's Tim's voice, drawing her back, but they're all looking at her, genuinely concerned. She crunches on another celery stick but focuses on the polished, wooden surface of the table. Now isn't the time or place to remember such things.

She hasn't thought about that day in a very long time, and she almost tells them.

_Almost._

"I'm fine," she says and clears her throat. She looks at Tim and manages a smile. "Really. I'm… just tired."

There is an awkward pause, and then Tony says, "It's been a long day." Debbie delivers his beer and hurries to another table. He raises the glass, apparently studying the froth on the amber liquid. "I'd like to propose a toast."

Ziva finds her rum and coke and the others find their beverages. Glasses lift and catch the light. They wait.

"To Leroy Jethro Gibbs," Tony states quietly. "May he find whatever the hell it is he's looking for."

"To Gibbs," Abby repeats.

"Gibbs," Tim and Jimmy say, in stereo.

"Gibbs," Ziva murmurs and sips her drink.

A silence follows, companionable, respectful. They don't understand entirely why their boss has chosen to leave, though they can deduce without any heavy investigation as to what caused his departure: All those people, betrayed by their own country. Everything he stood for ignored in favour of some tactical decision. None of them are happy about that.

They look at one another and a thought goes unspoken: But he didn't have to leave.

_Didn't have to leave his team. His friends. His -_

"Mishpacha."

Tony turns to her, a slight smile on his face. "Gesundheit."

Ziva can't help but roll her eyes and smirk in return, even when she smacks him on the shoulder. "It's Yiddish."

"Ow," he says, rubbing his shoulder but not really angry. "I knew that."

"What does it mean?" Jimmy asks.

"It means… 'extended family'," she says, and looks at her other hand as it clenches and unclenches around her drink.

Her father used to say that she had her mother's hands.

Tony places his hand on her arm. She stares at it then looks up at him. By the expression on his face, she thinks he understands. She turns to Abby and Tim, who are glancing at one another and seem uncertain. Jimmy's face is solemn. She swallows and can't find the words.

"Looks like it's us now, people," Tony says. "And we've got a long day ahead of us tomorrow." He checks his watch. "Let's enjoy the rest of the food and then I think we'd better be on our way."

Abby salutes, but she's smiling, even though she looks like she might start crying at any minute. "Whatever you say, _boss_."

Tim laughs and Jimmy joins him. Ziva allows herself a small smile and leans into Tony, just a little.

He doesn't seem to mind.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

_**To Be Continued?**_


End file.
